Never Shaken
by SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: At opposite ends of the realm, Sansa and Willas face very different challenges - but they are both fighting the same war. Sequel to Rough Winds Do Shake
1. Chapter 1

Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,  
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

\- Shakespeare's Sonnet 116

* * *

They crossed the Red Fork near two weeks past, at a ford three leagues from the Twins, and had been making slower and slower progress with every mile further north they travelled.

Sansa wished she could be back in Highgarden, or at least that she might have Willas' company, but she knew that this was the best way. This was the only chance she and Arya might have to see one of their brother's again, and Willas could not possibly leave Highgarden, not with Lord Mace and Garlan going to war, not with his injuries, not…

Winterfell was not his place. The North was not his place. Willas would be as out of place in the North as Arya had been in the Reach, and that sense of wrongness would only make him self-conscious and grumpy, and then he would feel guilty for his ill-temper, and she did not want that.

He had smiled so beautifully while they were saying goodbye, even though he had had tears in his eyes, even though he had been exhausted from so much sitting up, so much talking, since Humfrey's arrival in Highgarden. He had smiled to give her a good memory of him, she knew, to reassure her that he would survive her departure and be there for her when she returned. She never wanted to see him frown ever again.

"Lady Sansa," one of her retainers called - sturdy, curly-haired men from the Reach, wrapped up in layers of wool so thick it made Arya laugh every time they emerged from their tents at sunrise. "It's time to bed down for the night - the scouts say there is a copse of trees just ahead where we might find some shelter."

The trees were all bare here, in the snow, but they grew so tangled together that they kept the worst of the wind and snow out so that they might get some sleep during the long, dark nights. Sansa had found it hard to settle the first long weeks on the road, missing the softness of a bed under her, the warmth of her and Willas' blankets, the warmth of Willas' skin against her own. She had felt so weak and useless, especially when she saw how easily Arya and Lady Brienne slept, how readily Humfrey slipped into slumber when he came off his shift of watch at night. He usually took first watch, she thought so he could sleep enough to ride with her and guard her through the whole day.

He took his promise to Willas very seriously, she'd noticed. So seriously that he and Lady Brienne often clashed - Lady Brienne insisted that her vow to their mother was more important than Humfrey's vow to Willas, but Sansa could not believe that, not now.

Not after seeing that thing that had corrupted her mother's soul and was inhabiting her skin. Arya had somehow made sense of the creature, had managed to reconcilethat with the gentle hands and soft smiles that had warmed Winterfell even on the coldest days, and Sansa would never understand how she had done it.

They had a team of retainers from the creature, too, from Stoneheart. The big one in the yellow cloak, Lem, was too familiar with Arya and Lady Brienne for Sansa's tastes, but stayed well enough away from her - Humfrey made sure they all stayed away from her, Humfrey and Marian together were better than the fiercest guard dogs, but she had one of those, too. Blossom seemed to love the snow, contrary to all expectations, but loathed just about everyone save Sansa herself, Arya, Marian, and Humfrey.

"She only likes me because I smell like Willas," Humfrey grumbled, appearing in that sudden way of his at Sansa's side. Whisper was less easy in the snow than Blossom, her delicate legs thickening with muscle, her sweet nature sometimes turning sour after a long day. Humfrey had a way with her, though, murmuring to her as he helped Sansa dismount, always taking care of her tack himself - he did the same for his own horse, Sansa had noticed, babying Sparrow almost as badly as Willas did Gardener. It was unnerving, sometimes how alike to her husband Lord Hightower's youngest son was, but mostly it was a comfort, a piece of him to travel with her even when she was most afraid.

"I think she likes you because you sneak her more meat than is rationed for her," Sansa accused him, grinning under the scarf over her mouth. His eyes wrinkled in response, just as Lady Alerie's so often did when she smiled, and he waved Sansa on, passing her Blossom's lead and pointing towards the shelter that was being set up - Arya was already there, helping pitch some of the tents, while Lady Brienne was helping one of the men who had come from Oldtown with Humfrey build a fire. Sansa was pleased by how respectful the men had been of Lady Brienne, especially as compared with how Lord Mace had treated her.

Garlan's assurance that she was innocent of Lord Renly's murder seemed to have carried considerable weight among the men from the Reach. The creature's hoarse order to follow Lady Brienne's direction had done much the same for the brigands who were just now foraging for food and firewood.

"Come, shelter," Sansa said to Arya, guiding her into the tent nearest the fire, in the centre of the camp. "Rest a while before we eat."

Arya had always been half a horse, but even she was weary after the long, difficult days in the saddle, peering through snow and sleet with scarves wrapped around their faces and what furs they had wrapped around their shoulders. When she pulled back her hood and unwound her scarves, Sansa could see the deep shadows under her sister's eyes, see how prominent Arya's cheekbones had become in the near to two moons since they had left Highgarden, and she worried. They had plenty of food - while their table was not as abundant as those in Highgarden, it was filling, and supplemented with whatever they foraged or bought along the way - but the sheer effort of remaining on horseback against the biting winds blowing down from the North was exhausting.

"You ought to rest as well," Arya said, frowning when Sansa took a candle and flint from the saddlebag she always kept beside her, and, once the candle was light, the sheaf of parchment and the pen and ink. The ink she had to hold over the candle to thaw the ice, but once that was done, she made note of anything exciting that they had done, of anything interesting she had seen, and planned on sending it all to Willas as soon as they were somewhere safe. "You look like shit, you know - you should try sleeping more."

As they'd travelled further north, and the nights had gotten colder, Arya had insisted on their sharing the furs - it did help them stay warmer, but it made it more obvious just how restless a sleeper Sansa had become. Arya worried for Sansa near as much as Sansa worried for her, enough that they had managed to avoid fighting for the most part. They bickered still, of course, but no more than Willas and Garlan did, not as far as Sansa could judge.

"I'm well enough," was all she said, dipping her quill into the inkpot and scribbling down a few notes for Willas - she knew how he'd fret, and hoped that receiving this might comfort him a little. "I wonder where we are, though," she added, biting her lip. "There can't be much more between the- the river and the Neck, not even with how slowly we've been going."

"As perceptive as you are beautiful," Humfrey said, unwinding his scarf as he crawled into the tent. "We are indeed more or less to the Neck, niece - my scouts have reported back that the ground gives way to marshland not ten miles ahead, my lady. We are sending someone on ahead with a request for aid in the morning - gods willing we might find this Lord Reed you tell me was great friends with your lord father."

* * *

"Tell me, Lannister," Willas said, refusing to look up from the maps spread out on the table before him even when the Imp began to whistle. "What purpose do you serve?"

"Here at Highgarden, or in a more general sense? With regards the latter, I feel that I add a certain effervescence to the lives-"

"In Highgarden," Willas grit out. "In the service of the Dragon Queen. In Westeros, you fool! Your mad sister wants your head, and she'll take the head of any dwarf she lays eyes on in the meantime!"

"I am here as a political advisor to the Queen - or rather, to Ser Barristan, since he is here and she is not. You have been told this repeatedly, my lord."

True enough, Ser Barristan had assured Willas and Father both that Lannister was truly there on their Queen's orders, but Willas still mistrusted the annoying bastard.

He tried, though, for Sansa's sake. She had told him how Tyrion Lannister had tried to protect her while they were both in King's Landing, and any man who did good by Sansa was deserving of his respect and thanks.

If only Lannister weren't so damned irritating!

And if only they weren't trapped together in Highgarden, the last two men left in the castle, more or less - Father and Garlan were gone north-east and south-west, one to shore up the defences nearest King's Landing and the other to aid against the Greyjoys at Oldtown however he could. Garlan was the one likely to be in the most danger, but Willas knew that Father was far from safe, especially now that Ser Barristan was with him, as ambassador for Prince Aegon's most dangerous rival.

"Has your queen a temperament that might lead her to making peace with the Prince?" he asked, if only to keep himself from making some acerbic comment that would earn him a reprimand from Mother. "Is she likely to avoid war on that front, at least?"

"Well," Lannister said, pulling himself up sit opposite Willas. "She's done away with her second husband, both of them dark-skinned foreigners, so the third being a Targaryen seems appropriate. Finally with her rightful husband, as some would see it, I suppose."

"That is not an answer."

"Well, I am not Daenerys Targaryen," Lannister pointed out. "Could you predict what your wife's sister might do if presented with a husband who would help her regain their home and titles?"

Absolutely he could - Arya Stark would press Sansa to annul their marriage so that she could wed whoever this marvellous prospect was, particularly if he was a Northman.

"Likely I could," he said. "But again, that is not an answer."

Lannister was smiling, a terrible thing that twisted his scars - just seeing that made Willas' own scars feel tight and itchy, especially the bulk of the scarring on his back.

"I will tell you this, Tyrell," Lannister said. "Daenerys Targaryen wed a Meereenese slaver prince to protect the people she gathered on her travels. She would go to great lengths to protect innocents, I think - so, if your Prince offers her fair terms, and guarantees safety for her people, I cannot see why she would refuse him. Which," he added, holding up one short finger with a vicious sort of half-grin, "is not to say that she will not. She can be capricious, the Mother of Dragons."

Willas sighed and sat back, tipping his head back so he wouldn't curse at the little bastard. Getting answers out of him was like pulling hen's teeth, as infuriating as it was impossible.

"I will say this, though," Lannister cut in. "Your abandoning my sister and nephew and acting against them will play in your favour with the Queen. She hates whoever holds the Iron Throne more than she hates near anything else, and your breaking from my family will look well in her eyes."

Well, that was something, at least - it made it less likely that they'd all die in a hail of dragonfire, he supposed, and that was a fate he wished to spare them all, especially given how Loras had- how Loras had been-

He swallowed past the lump that had gathered in his throat, swore that he would go to Loras' grave in the morning with Margaery, and sighed.

"How far behind you do you suppose your queen is?" he asked, rubbing his eyes - it had been a moon's turn since Lannister and Ser Barristan had arrived, two moons since Sansa had left, and Willas was already sick and tired of everything. He missed his wife, he missed his father and his brothers, and he missed having any semblance of normality in his life.

But they were at war, were they not? Normality was a distant dream.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa was nearly sick with jealousy every time she looked to Lord and Lady Reed.

Not only because seeing them together, able to talk and touch and smile together, made the ache of Willas' absence all the more pronounced, but because here was Father's greatest friend, alive and well, with his lady wife at his side, she just as alive and twice as hale, when Sansa's father had been robbed of his head and her mother had been robbed of her heart. It wasn't fair.

It hurt more than seeing Lord Mace and Lady Alerie together had, during Sansa's early days at Highgarden - it had been next to impossible to look at them or at Garlan and Leonette or at any of the married cousins, because she had looked at them all and seen everything her mother had lost, everything she was sure was out of her reach, because surely a man of Willas' years and learning and experience would never look at her the way his father looked at his mother. She had overcome that, though, because Willas had so quickly given his heart into her keeping, and because she had been part of Highgarden, right from the moment Willas wrapped her in green and cloth-of-gold.

Here, in stilted, stifling Greywater Watch, she was an outsider, and there was no comfort to be had in Lady Jyana's presence. Lady Alerie was ever a balm, no matter what hurts Sansa took, but Lady Jyana offered nothing but a cool practicality and a polite welcome, and saved all her warmth for her husband.

It was too much like the way Father saved the best of himself for Mother for Sansa to ever like the woman, living the sort of life denied her parents, and so she held herself back, allowed Arya to lead here, where she seemed so very at home, and from which Sansa wished to be gone as quickly as she could.

"You are not our first guests who owe their visit to this war," Lord Reed said, tugging on his short, thick beard, watching them with sharply green eyes. "There are some who hide here for fear of what might be done to obtain that which was entrusted to them. Do you wish to meet them?"

* * *

"You knew this," Willas said, feeling as if he might lose his mind, "and said nothing?!"

"What good would it have done for you to know," Lannister said evenly, "when your brother was already halfway to Oldtown by the time of our arrival?"

"You knew that a madman has control of a fucking dragon!" Willas shouted, giving up on maintaining any semblance of control because Garlan was in the worst danger imaginable, and he was powerless to help. "A dragon that he is going to use on Oldtown!"

"I understand that your brother is a sensible man, my lord," Lannister said coolly, painfully unmoved by Willas' terror. "Surely he will not put himself in the dragon's path?"

"I am sure that no man on the Field of Fire thought to put himself in a dragon's path, and thousands still burned, you insufferable shit!"

Lannister leaned back in his chair, looking almost... Surprised.

"If you'll calm yourself a little, my lord," he said, "I can explain why we did not think to tell you."

Willas' hands were still shaking, but he lowered himself into his chair and cast aside his crutches in pure temper, waiting for Lannister to begin.

"There is no way to combat a dragon," Lannister said, "but there are many ways of countering Ironborn reavers. Had your brother been informed of the incoming dragon, he might have been distracted from the task at hand, and there would have been no one to defend from the raiders attacking the coast and the villages outside the city. Am I wrong, my lord?"

Willas could not find so much as a single word to explain just how disgusted he was by Lannister's actions. Garlan was marching to almost certain doom, Grandfather and Baelor and Malora and all the rest would surely die as well, if a dragon was set on razing Oldtown, and Lannister knew.

"You have killed my brother," Willas said. "As surely as if you had wielded the sword yourself."

"Well," Lannister said easily, "brothers always prove themselves less worthy of your love than you initially believe, so what of it? He would only have disappointed you."

* * *

"You must understand, Lady Sansa," Lady Mormont said, looking more annoyed than anything else, "that so far as your brother and his advisors - myself among them - knew, you were wed into a House which stood staunch behind the Lannister bastard."

"My husband's family murdered the Lannister bastard," Sansa said, "and while my goodsister did wed the kitten, that was as much about removing Cersei and Tywin Lannister from influence as anything else."

"And installing your goodbrother on the Kingsguard?" Lady Mormont challenged, jaw set in a way that made Sansa think of Arya. "That was surely just to influence the boy king, and had nothing to do with gaining prestige for the roses of Highgarden."

"My goodbrother is dead," Sansa said sharply. "Installing him on the Kingsguard was the best chance my goodfather saw of protecting my goodsister from harm while they worked their schemes, which of course were about gaining prestige for House Tyrell. Not all lords have motives so pure as my father or brother, Lady Mormont. Perhaps that is why they survive where we Starks seem to die so much more readily."

"You have survived as well, Lady Sansa," Lady Mormont said, cool and drawn back. "You have grown strong under the protection of your husband's family. A pity their protection did not extend to your brother or mother, or to my daughter, or-"

"A pity you are so eager to blame someone for treason that you will turn your anger on a girl who was powerless to help, my lady," Lord Reed said quietly. "You know well there was naught Lady Sansa or her husband's family could have done to stay the hands of the Freys and Boltons - those wheels were long in motion by the time she was made a Tyrell."

"I was in the High Tower of Oldtown when I was told what had happened," Sansa said, queasy at the memories. "The Queen had ordered us to King's Landing, but my husband wished to spare me that, and so he took me to meet his mother's family. I had no idea of any of it, not even of Robb wedding the Westerling girl, not until it was done. All I could do was pray for their souls, that they would find their rest. I was... I have been powerless for a very long time, Lady Mormont. My House has been powerless to stop our fates for a long time."

Lady Mormont had taken to Arya immediately, congratulating her on having survived so much, for so long - but she had no such warmth for Sansa. Master Glover had at least hidden his disdain a little better, but Lady Mormont was not a woman for false courtesies, and had made it clear that she had little sympathy for what Sansa may have suffered, in the face of what comfort she had had since marrying Willas. Not so long ago, Sansa might have quailed before her, cowed by the old woman's righteous anger, but she knew that Lady Mormont's anger was not meant for her so much as for all that has been lost, and Sansa's own removal from it.

"I did not ask if you cried for your mother or not, my lady," Lady Mormont said. "I mean only that it is not for you to say what good any choices have made - this war has barely happened for you. Safe as a hostage at court, and then an illustrious marriage? Hardly a difficult few years."

Arya moved to defend Sansa, which surprised her, but she held up a hand to forestall Arya's words.

Her cloak whispered to the floor, and Lady Mormont looked confused when Sansa's hands went to the fastenings of her gown.

"I was not safe as a hostage at court," she said. "From the moment Joffrey Baratheon made me watch Ilyn Payne take my father's head, I was not safe."

Arya helped her pull her arms from her sleeves, helped her arrange her shift and stays to show off the worst of her scarring.

"From the moment Robb went to war," Sansa said, "I was his whipping girl at court. Every time Joffrey Baratheon was displeased by something, whether done by my brother or by Balon Greyjoy or by Stannis Baratheon, the Kingsguard were set to beating me."

She turned, and Lady Mormont and Master Glover and Lord Reed all stayed silent.

"I spent half my time out of my mind on poppy's milk," Sansa said, "because I had to heal well enough for the King to have me beaten again when next his temper snapped."

Arya gave her a grim little smile as she helped tug Sansa's clothes back into place, and Sansa was grateful for it. It was hard to even think about all that Joffrey had done and threatened to do, but if it made Lady Mormont take her at all seriously, Sansa would do it.

"Do not tell me that the war barely happened for me," Sansa said, fastening the silver roses to hold her cloak in place when Humfrey settled it around her shoulders. "I carry my brother's victories on my skin every day, Lady Mormont."

Lady Mormont looked her in the eye properly for the first time since they had been introduced then, and had the nerve to smile.

"There is more of your mother in you than I believed," she said. "Good. We will need her strength of will if we are to sort the mess the Boltons have made of the North."

"Let's begin with Robb's will," Arya said, sounding grateful. "I think we can all agree that it is null, given that Rickon is alive?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa sent Humfrey to hunt out a pair of new breeches for her when Moat Cailan came into sight because the longest pair Lady Alerie sent with her were getting too short in the waist, never mind in the leg. Her boots, too, seemed to be getting small, and as for her tunics - well! Thank the gods that Lady Reed was generous with her wool.

Arya found the whole thing hilarious, so Sansa didn't even mind. Greywater Watch had been in the extreme south of the Neck when they found it, and the slog north through the mire was hellish. Sansa had never been so tired in all her life by the time they finally reached something like a real road again, and she said as much to Lady Brienne.

"Well, my lady," she said, carefully, as if afraid of causing insult. "That's because the Brotherhood has insisted that we avoid the road as much as possible until we're firmly in the territory of a known ally."

"So they plan of forging their own path all the way to White Harbour?" Sansa asked, horrified at the thought of hiking east across the North, in these horrible snows, against these horrible winds. "Lady Brienne, I understand their caution, but-"

"But we are more than capable of defending Lady Sansa from whatever fools would dare to attack us," Humfrey cut in, his serious face somewhat undermined by the array of breeches hanging over his arm. "Your precious Brotherhood is a band of outlaws, my lady, and very much not in charge of this expedition."

"And you are, ser?" Brienne snapped, straightening up to stand fully two inches taller than Humfrey. "I do not remember agreeing to follow your lead-"

"You agreed to such terms when you accepted the bounty of Highgarden in pursuit of your goal, Lady Brienne," Humfrey said. Angry like this, he was even more like Willas than ever, and Sansa's heart ached a little for how much she missed being home - and then she felt guilty, for home no longer seemed to mean only Winterfell. "My goodbrother and my nephew alike were perfectly clear that the safety and wellbeing of the ladies fell under my purview, and that it is my responsibility to see them both safely to White Harbour and to see Lady Sansa safely home again to Highgarden. I will not dishonour myself or the vow I swore to my nephew simply because of that demon your precious Brotherhood follows-"

"Enough," Sansa said. "We cannot afford to fight - wait until we are safe within the walls of White Harbour, under Lord Manderly's protection. Then you may bicker all you please. For now, we must carry on, and we must do so together."

Arya was sitting a little way away on her horse, watching carefully - flanked, as ever, by Lady Mormont and Lord Reed. Lady Mormont had decided not to hate Sansa, but she had cleaved firmly to Arya's side. Humfrey regarded her with utmost suspicion, but Sansa could understand it easily enough. If this boy in White Harbour turned out not to be Rickon, or if something went wrong and they lost him, Arya was a better choice for the North than Sansa because she was not tied to any southron power.

Sansa would not surrender her tie to Highgarden, no matter what Winterfell's bannermen demanded, but she could not blame them for their hatred of House Tyrell. It did make her wonder, of course, how Lady Mormont and her cohort could so easily accept the horses and supplies Sansa's party offered them, but she supposed things were different here, above the Neck, where Humfrey and his men were so out of place. She had half a suspicion that Lady Mormont felt that the bounty of Highgarden was only a fair reparation, a debt to be paid by the Lannisters' one-time allies to those wronged by the crown.

Sansa could not deny that she felt the same, sometimes, and so she said nothing at all. It was easier than letting either Humfrey or Lady Mormont feel that she was picking sides. It was proving harder than she'd ever anticipated to keep the peace, and she had a new respect for Lord Mace, who so ably kept the Reach on an even keel even with the Hightowers and the Redwynes and the Rowans all squabbling and bickering every time anyone else breathed.

"As you say, my lady," Brienne said, gracing Humfrey with a glare so poisonous even Arya startled at it. "I will speak with Lady Stoneheart's men."

Humfrey sidled closer, head hanging low and mouth twisted in shame.

"Well," he said quietly, "I'm showing well for the Reach, aren't I? Forgive me, niece, I will rein myself in better - at least until we reach White Harbour."

"Then you may challenge Lady Brienne to as many duels as it takes for the two of you to work this silliness out of your systems," Sansa agreed. "But until then, we are too small and vulnerable a party to risk internal strife like this - you were the one who warned me of that, remember, before we reached Greywater Watch."

Humfrey's frown turned from shame to annoyance, and in this, Sansa was wholly on his side. She had hated every moment they spent there, no matter how generous Lady Jyanna was with her cloth, and could still feel that filthy, horrible jealousy stirring in her belly whenever she thought of Lord and Lady Reed waving them all off with linked arms - there was no more Lord and Lady Stark to link arms, and the part of Sansa that had lost her whole family in only a few short years feared that she and Willas would never stand as Lord and Lady Tyrell.

"Tell me, niece," Humfrey said, pulling her hood further over her head with the sort of absent-minded care Lady Alerie so often showed, "what do you plan on doing with our most recent acquisitions when we come to White Harbour?"

Sansa's hand went to the wrapped bundle tucked into the inner pocket of her outermost tunic, the bundle that went from her to Humfrey and back to her - some of the squires had slipped it from Master Glover's things and brought it to them while they broke their fast that morning. It was still sealed, and with Robb's own seal at that, but Sansa wasn't the same fool she had been before King's Landing - it was a will. Like as not, it was a will that ruled her out of the succession for the simple fact of her marriage.

Part of her hoped that it made it explicit that she was out of line. At least that way, her eventual plan to return to Willas' side could not be framed as selfishness, even if this boy in White Harbour turned out not to be Rickon at all. Then Winterfell could be Arya's, and Sansa would only have to stay until Arya came of age - just five years, rather than ten, five years and a suitable husband, and then Sansa could go home.

She wasn't sure which made her feel guiltier - having stolen the will from Master Glover's keeping, the doubt she felt at the prospect of Rickon's survival, or the fact that she couldn't quite settle on which castle she meant as home.

* * *

"There is a dragon in Oldtown," Willas said. "Please, Ser Barristan, please tell me that there is some way to combat a dragon, some secret you learned in all your years among the Targaryens - something that can help my brother and my mother's family."

"I wish there was, my lord," Ser Barristan said, with genuine remorse on his face. Willas was unsure how he felt about the old man, who had forsworn some of the most sacred vows a layman could take in Westeros for the sake of long-ignored morals, but he was at least an easier alternative to bloody Lannister. "But we had little enough to do with the dragons - Her Grace was always careful to keep them safely away from her people, as best she could."

He'd written to Sunspear, of course, asking that they find the plans for the scorpions that felled long-ago Meraxes and send them along to Oldtown, to give Garlan and the rest their best chance. He'd written letters to anyone he thought might have a chance of helping, any House with a history of dragons, and a few with histories of dragonseeds. Anything at all that might give Garlan an edge, give him a hope.

Ser Barristan had been a last-dash hope, and even that had failed. Lannister had taken to the library, even his fantastic bravado failing in the face of reports of a dragon leading the worst Ironborn reaving in decades across the Shield Islands and further in, and he had found bits and pieces that might explain how a fucking Greyjoy had gotten hold of a dragon in the first place, but nothing that would really help.

Still. Better than nothing. At this stage, Willas only hoped Garlan would live long enough for Queen Daenerys to arrive - from what Lannister had told him she would reach their shores by the new moon, but that might not have been enough.

At least Sansa was safe, away in the North. She had the best hope of any of them of escaping Euron Greyjoy's madness.

"If I may, my lord," Ser Barristan said, cutting across Willas' woolgathering - that was what Mother called it, although Margie preferred to call it quiet panicking - with that particularly measured voice of his. "Your brother might just be best served to retreat."

Willas looked up to Ser Barristan, horrified by all that was implied by his suggestion.

"If my brother retreats," he said, "he will be abandoning Oldtown to its fate - the biggest city in Westeros, outside of King's Landing. Without time to evacuate, it's no better than murder."

"My lord-"

"I cannot ask that my brother abandon innocents to the Crow's Eye, ser," he said sternly. "Even if I did, he would refuse - and rightly so."

Ser Barristan looked down at the map then, and Willas took the chance to leave - he hadn't been out of Father's solar since first light, and between the hunger and the ache in his back, he needed a rest and a solid meal.

He could smell food in Mother's solar, and followed his nose. He hadn't realised it was late enough that the kitchens would've sent up something hot, but he had been preoccupied with Ser Barristan, delayed by Lannister's irregular but lengthy interruptions. The smell of roast lamb made his stomach howl, and he nudged into Mama's rooms without knocking, risking the scolding for his lack of manners.

Margaery and Leo were with her, of course. The three of them were rarely apart, save when Margie was with Grandmother, and it had become something of a comfort to see them like this, silver and gold and chestnut-brown heads bent together over some plot or scheme that would make the running of Highgarden easier for him, leaving him more time to waste with Ser Barristan and Lannister.

Mother waved him in, scowling at his rudeness, but only razor-pretty Nym, who'd remained behind when the Targaryen party left Highgarden to keep an eye on them, otherwise acknowledged his entrance. Margie was stroking Leo's hair, and Leo seemed to be crying. She was doing her best to hide it from him, but he'd known her all their lives and he knew what to look for. He couldn't remember the last time Leo had cried, though, and forgot all about the pain in his back and the rumble of his stomach in the face of her tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked, managing to manoeuvre himself into a chair with minimal fuss. "Leo - what is it?"

"Oh, nothing," Leo insisted. "I'm just being silly."

"It's not nothing," Margaery said sharply. "Leonette, you have to-"

"No, Margaery-"

"Leo-"

"Your brother left his wife with child, my lord," Nym said, this time not even bothering to look up from her book. "They've been keeping it from you for fear that you'll send them away in case of an attack on Highgarden."

"Why would I do that?" he asked, flummoxed so much that he could hardly think. Gargoyle, a father! It seemed absurd, it truly did, but Leonette's hands were fluttering over her belly, her eyes massive in her suddenly pale face, and there was nothing absurd about that. "There is nowhere safer in the Reach than Highgarden, and nowhere safer in Westeros than the Reach."

"Except Dorne," Nym said, smiling a little and casting him a single sidelong glance, "but I cannot imagine that your brother would wish to see his wife sent to Sunspear."

As a hostage, she meant, and Willas would never allow that. He knew how much harm being held as hostage had done to Sansa, and while he did believe that the Martells would be kinder to Leo than the Lannisters had been to Sansa, he still would not ever take that risk. Not with Garlan's wife. Not with his friend, his sister.

"How long…?"

Leonette's smile was a tiny, trembling thing, her hands still fluttering and her eyes still huge, and Willas couldn't help but match it. It was mad, truly it was, but that this tiny shimmer of joy should even exist among all the terror that was surrounding them was something very, very special. It was something good, and Willas couldn't even be jealous of Garlan's happiness, of Leo's terrified smile, because it was a happiness to be shared by their whole family.

"Just shy of six months," she said. "I've been showing for a good month at this stage, but you were so sick when we found out, and then you've been so busy that I didn't want to worry you - it hasn't taken much to hide it from you."

"You've been oblivious to everything that isn't on your war table," Margaery said, rolling her eyes. "But we forgive you, brother, because you have been busy, I suppose."

"I hope you aren't angry, Willas," Leo said, nudging Marg with her sharpest elbow. "I do so hate when we fight."

He took Leonette's trembling hands and kissed them, only barely not laughing - because they did fight, and often, and she always said it did them good to argue, the two of them and Garlan. She preferred to shield Sansa from it all because she thought Sansa was softer than the rest of them, but Sansa had developed a knack for putting Garlan down in every argument, and smiling so sweetly while doing so that Garlan couldn't even fight back.

Gods be kind but he missed her. He missed Garlan as well, but he missed Sansa more.

"Congratulations, Leonette," he said with every ounce of earnestness he could muster. "Will you remain here, or do you wish to visit Cider Hall for the birth?"

"She will remain here," Mother said, speaking for the first time and looking relieved - obviously, she hadn't agreed with keeping this news from Willas. "Every Tyrell for the last three hundred years has been born in Highgarden, despite my and your grandmother's best efforts to oust a cousin or three, and I certainly won't see that tradition broken for something as silly as a war."

* * *

"Lord Tyrell!"

Garlan looked up, glad to see his coastal scouts had returned - two of the last four had been burned by that monster the Crow's Eye had stolen from the Dragon Queen, and three of the four before that had been returned tongueless and eyeless and very, very dead.

"Come in, lads, come here," he called, waving them into the command tent and refusing to meet Baelor's eye - he was a little ashamed of how much stock he put in his men's survival, and knew that Brightsmile likely wouldn't understand. Baelor hadn't fought since the Greyjoy Rebellion, and Garlan didn't think he'd ever seen men die in a hail of fire.

But Garlan had watched men die in a green hell on the Blackwater - he had benefited from it, was Lord Garlan only because of the death and agony in King's Landing. Only Leonette knew how tainted Brightwater felt for him, not because he didn't trust Willas with his heart, but because he felt as though it was ungrateful for him not to seize Brightwater with both hands. It was what Father expected of him, what even Mother expected of him, and he could not bear to disappoint any of them.

"What of the dragon, lads?" Baelor asked, clapping a hand to Garlan's shoulder. "Has it come in again, or is he keeping it out on the islands?"

That was the impossible fear - the monster had flown in a handful of times, scorched earth and men alike, and then retreated to the islands beyond the harbor. Garlan dreaded the day the Crow's Eye turned his beast's full wrath on the city, because even with the efforts they'd made so far to empty the lower levels, nearest the harbour, there were too many people who would burn. Garlan couldn't bear it if that happened.

"The thing, my lord," the eldest boy said - he was a Fossoway, a second cousin of Leo's with the same brightly intelligent eyes that had first drawn Garlan to her, and he was the best scout they had. "It's flying southwest, from what we can see, heading down the Dornish coast."

"Away from the city?" Garlan asked, confused. "Does the Crow's Eye fly with it?"

"That we don't know, ser," he said - Donnel, that was his name. "But those other monsters of his, the ones in men's skins, they're still close at hand. We've spied them settling on the smaller islands in the harbour, and they've not moved in two days or more."

The waiting was the worst of it. No matter how many scouts he risked, no matter the spies he sent out, he couldn't know the whole truth of what the Crow's Eye and his demons had planned. At least Leo and the babe were safe at Highgarden - keeping them far inland was his only hope of them staying that way.

Far from the coast, and under Willas' care. There was nowhere safer in all of Westeros than Highgarden, just now.

* * *

They found one of those horrible little copses of trees to set up camp within sight of Moat Cailan, with a wind blowing up from over the Bite to freeze every one of them in their furs.

Arya's teeth were chattering as she tried to force down the sour stew her Brotherhood had cooked up, and Sansa's weren't far behind. It was only the heavy woollen blankets Marian had wrapped around her shoulders under her cloak that were keeping her from freezing solid, and she wondered how Arya and Alla were standing it, never mind Marian and the other women in their party - never mind the men, who had only their gambesons under their plate, and their cloaks over.

"The walls in Winterfell are warm," Arya chittered out. "The hot springs flush water through them, and they're always warm. I miss them."

Sansa nodded as hard as she could. She would have laughed, except the wind kept whipping away her breath every time she tried to speak.

"I miss the sun," Alla managed, forcing the words out around her spoon. "I miss being able to feel my toes."

They all laughed at that, laughed enough to make themselves halfway warm. Sansa choked down half a bowl of horrible stew, and she was just rising to go to her and Arya's tent - now shared with Alla and Marian and the two girls who'd been sent to tend Arya and Alla, to try and conserve some little shred of heat when the night fully fell.

And to hide, from the thing that came with truest darkness.

Sometimes the thing came early, trailing sorrow into the light of the fires, and those were the nights Sansa hated most. Those were the nights when Arya clutched tightest to her arm, the nights when Marian hovered closest by her side. Those were the nights when Humfrey ate with his beautiful sword balanced across his knees, and the nights when Lady Mormont ate one-handed, the better to have her heavy mace at the ready.

Those were the nights when Mother came to dinner, and tonight, it seemed, was one such night.

The croaking heralded her arrival, as it always did, cutting under the wind like a nightmare made real. Arya's face went hard at the creep of it, her eyes that same curious blank that they only otherwise seemed to go when she has her narrow sword in hand.

"Sansa," Humfrey said quietly. "Are you certain-"

"No," she admitted. "But we have no choice."

Lem Lemoncloak stood at the thing's shoulder, massive and ugly in a way that had nothing to do with his face, leering down at Sansa and Arya as if he enjoyed the pain this always caused them.

"My lady," Sansa said, as had become their custom. "Would you share our fire tonight?"

Sansa's mother had loved sitting by the fire, brushing out their hair and telling them stories of the rivers. The thing hated the fire, seemed almost to fear it, but tolerated it to stand and stare at Sansa and Arya every third or fourth night.

Sansa wished Lady Brienne had never sworn her sword to Lady Stoneheart. If her vow had been only to Catelyn Stark, then Sansa might have taken it upon herself as her mother's daughter, and set the butchered remnant of Ice that Lady Brienne carried at her hip to work on setting Mother to rest.


	4. Chapter 4

White Harbour was still half a moon's turn away and more when the first scout from the Manderlys found them. He was a boy no older than Sansa, on a sturdy-legged horse of Northern breeding, and his nose was eaten away by frostbite, but he stood firm against their bedraggled, bewildered band of warriors nonetheless.

"Who rides abroad in Manderly lands?" he shouted in challenge, his well-made but unremarkable sword shining in the weak sunlight.

Humfrey drew his ancient, magnificent blade, and then lowered it. Supplication.

"Thank the gods," Arya murmured. "I thought he was going to stand against him."

Sansa had thought the same, for a moment. Humfrey had been spoiling for a fight from the moment they met with the Brotherhood, never going longer than it took to tie his laces or settle the horses with his hand off his hilt. It worried her to see his smiling face become so grim, if only because it so reminded her of Willas at the very depths of his pain. Humfrey's face was made for sorrow even less than Willas', and Sansa worried about the toll this journey would take on him. She worried about the man she would return to the Hightower, at the end of it all, and wondered if the Old Man would forgive her if he could no longer recognise his son.

"If your lords are to be trusted," Humfrey called, "then we are to be expected. We have come a long way, and would have bread and salt of your masters."

The boy's sword dropped just a little, and he nudged his weary horse a little closer.

"You come from Flowers' cousin, then?"

"Aye, we do," Humfrey promised. "You were sent out to find us?"

The boy came closer still, and lowered his sword fully.

"Lord Manderly is absent, and likely dead," he said. "But Ser Wylis bids you welcome, and offers you the protection of White Harbour. I'm to lead you the smuggler's road, if you will allow it."

Humfrey looked to Sansa, and she nodded. She'd heard rumour of smugglers' roads leading to and from White Harbour, she remembered. Robb and Jon had talked of them as something exciting in their peaceful, faraway before-world. There was nothing but the North in this boy's accent, and it would do no good for a liar to make them uncertain by claiming Lord Manderly dead.

They would follow. She only hoped they would not be led into Lannister hands.

* * *

The dragon had not been seen for six days when Garlan's scouts brought in one of the Crow's Eye's men.

Alive.

"Gods preserve us," Baelor murmured, his hand flying to the seven-pointed star he wore on a heavy chain around his neck. Brightsmile's smile had failed him already, but now he looked truly grim, and somehow more like Mother than Garlan had ever noticed before.

Their prisoner was tongueless, probably, but Garlan couldn't be certain. The thick black thread holding the man's lips closed in clumsy, artless stitches made sure of that.

"Bring a maester," Garlan said, "and water, and thin gruel. And blankets, too."

He would not be accused of torturing a prisoner, and Grandmother had always said they'd catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Not that she'd ever taken her own advice, of course, but it had served Garlan well all these years.

"You speak Common?" he asked, sitting down so he wouldn't be quite so high above the prisoner. The man shrugged and scowled, but did not fight his bonds. "We can better care for your wounds if you can tell us what they are - so I ask again. Do you speak Common?"

The man nodded slowly, as though afraid to answer at all, but then gestured to his desecrated mouth as best he could with bound hands.

"I understand," Garlan said. "Can you write? Common or Valyrian, we would be able to read either."

Garlan spoke little Valyrian and read less, but Baelor was more or less fluent, and they had a surplus of maesters on whom to call if it came to it. Whatever this man knew, they would find out, if kindness could coax a betrayal where cruelty had sought to create loyalty.

Maybe, if they tended this poor creature's ills, if they offered him some little comfort and respect, they might know some of the Crow's Eye's secrets. Maybe. He could hope, even if it seemed a foolish thing to do.

* * *

Sansa stirred when Arya pushed at her shoulder, rustling upright as best she could against the cold tiredness that seemed to have settled down into her joints, ready to tug her asleep the moment she stopped concentrating on being awake.

"Shelter," Arya said, her voice hoarse with the snowy winds. "Just ahead. Wake up."

"I am awake," Sansa groused, but she shook herself and rubbed at Whisper's neck, amazed for the hundredth time that all their beautiful Reacher horses were withstanding the North so well. "What shelter is it?"

"Caves, Lady Sansa," Lord Reed said. Sansa had not heard him or his odd little pony coming close, and did her best to hide her surprise. She knew that Lord Reed had been her father's dearest friend short of King Robert, knew that he had been with Father when he brought home their aunt's bones, but she could not bring herself to trust him anymore than she could Lady Mormont, who watched her so carefully. "We're closer to the coast than we realised, and the hills here are riddled with caves - we can shelter there tonight, and perhaps even hunt a little."

Hunting had been difficult since they'd crossed the Neck. Sansa had seen it, even if one of the few things Humfrey and Lady Brienne agreed on was hiding any difficulties from Sansa and Arya. It would be good if they could send out a hunting party, and better if all their men could sleep out of the wind and snow for once.

Sansa wondered, idly, how Willas was sleeping without her. She'd halfways gotten used to being without him, but she still found herself reaching for him when she woke from a nightmare, saying his name when she wasn't quite awake and having only Arya to answer. Marian was always gentler than usual the mornings after her nightmares, and usually slipped her a posset to help her sleep the night after.

Arya's sleep was restless too, but seemed less troubled by nightmares than it was by an ever-present fear. Arya was always awake first, and asleep last, and stirred more often than anyone else during the night. Sansa wished they could talk together about it, but there were too many others nearby all of the time, and while she trusted her Reachmen, and Arya trusted the Northmen, neither could trust the other's guards. Sansa knew how low Master Glover thought of her, and Arya trusted nothing of Highgarden or the Reach on principle.

And there was, of course, the Brotherhood. Sansa did her best not to think of them if she could avoid it.

"We've scouted ahead," Humfrey rasped over the wind. "Good shelter, I think - we'll be able to set you up in some sort of comfort tonight, niece."

Master Glover, riding close by Arya's side, scowled at how familiar Humfrey was with Sansa. Lady Mormont had made her displeasure at Sansa's continuing dependence on Humfrey and his men known at great length and volume, but Sansa was determined to be defiant in this. She was wife to the heir to Highgarden, second lady of the Reach, and it was only right that she cleave to her husband's kinsmen.

The sooner they reached White Harbour, for better or worse, the easier Sansa's life would become. At least there, she could arrange to have her men quartered away from Arya's, and cut out some of the bickering and posturing.

They reached the caves almost before Sansa had noticed the rise, and she and Arya were bundled in ahead of everyone else, out of the wind and snow. The Brotherhood had fires set and cooking pots ready before anyone else had dropped their packs, and something about the dancing shadows on their smiling faces made Sansa's skin prickle unpleasantly.

"We've boarded in caves before, my lady," Likely Luke said, the cleft of his chin catching shadows here and there. "And worse'n these, I dare say."

Humfrey was at Sansa's side in a heartbeat, ushering her away to sit by the fire her men had set, and soon she was bundled in furs and sipping at hot, honey-sweet tea while all around her, her men busied themselves with preparing camp.

Alla - gods be good, but Sansa kept forgetting Alla was with them, because of how neatly the girl tucked herself in among the servants and made herself useful. Sansa was coming to see why Arya liked Alla so much, now that she'd seen how sensible and practical her cousin-by-marriage could be - settled in against Sansa's side, shivering just a little, but she brightened up when Arya settled on her other side.

"Mother is coming," Arya said, and what little good humour Sansa had gathered up disappeared, just like that.


End file.
